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by jagwriter78



Series: Walk Through The Fire [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagwriter78/pseuds/jagwriter78
Summary: When Veronica is on a case in Tennessee, she's in for more than she bargained.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Series: Walk Through The Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869448
Comments: 29
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. This kind of started as an angry fic after watching season 4 for the first time and it kinda just grew from there. I never intended to post this as it was supposed as some sort of tension relief only (and to keep me from throwing the TV out the window at 2am in the morning...) but I guess maybe someone will enjoy this. See it as part 1 in a series (I did say it kinda grew on its own, right?). 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta brokenmnemonic for all the input on this one. And no, you can't lock Dick in a closet.
> 
> This is part of the Walk Through The Fire series.
> 
>   
>    
> 

The road to well-being. People keep looking at me and telling me that that’s the path I am currently on. Me – I’m not so sure about that. 

I’ve always got some baggage to carry. Over the years, just when I thought I had gotten rid of some of it, something – or someone – came along and made me realize that I was wrong. So when people tell me I am on the road to well-being, I’m just gonna call that bullshit.

People like me can’t just have a normal life or a happy ending. Now matter how hard you try, it just ain’t gonna happen. How do I know? Because I tried. I really, really did. But no matter which way I went or how hard I tried, it always came back to bite me in the ass.

_She is the toughest human being I’ve ever met_ – love surely must make you blind because that is not who I am. I’m the person who falls into bed at night crying over everything that is lost and I could not save. Crying over all those wrong decisions I’ve made in my life. Decisions that got people hurt. Got people killed. Got my husband killed. Tough people do not cry.

_Blows that destroy most people… she always picks herself back up_ – is that so? Every blow that I’ve taken, every single one of them, just damaged me a bit more. I didn’t pick myself back up. I glued the pieces together, patched them up and went on with my life. Never once did I think that the next blow could be the one that would fully destroy me. Until the day that final blow actually came.

That day was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Now I know that I was just kidding myself. Because like I said, people like me do not get to have a happy ending. What goes up must come down. And everything did come crashing down.

Do you know that nagging tingle in your gut that tells you that something just isn’t quite right? Kinda like that sensation on your tongue when you taste the lemon in your mouth and lick the salt off your hand right before you down that shot of tequila. My gut feeling. My instinct. I always came to rely on that and it never failed me once until I decided that it was time to sober up and just ignore that nagging that had been a part of me for as long as I can remember.

It wasn’t the first time I had played with fire when dad and I drove out the woods that night. It wasn’t my first brush with death when the bullets were flying past my head. And it sure wasn’t a moment of clarity that followed when I returned home and found Logan waiting for me. It was a moment of weakness. I allowed my heart to get the better of me and ignore my nagging gut feeling. The one that had saved me so many times before, the one that defined me, that made me. My lifeline.

Maybe I had flipped off death one too many times. Maybe this was his way of getting back at me and taunting me, _Veronica, Veronica, you can’t keep on messing with me. Now it’s payback time._

And what a payback it was. I allowed my guard to fully drop that day. I told myself that I wasn’t gonna listen to my gut anymore because all I really needed was right there in front of me.

Logan. All I needed was Logan.

No matter how much distance I put between us, physically and emotionally, I couldn’t escape. No matter how fast I ran and whichever turn I took, the road always led me right to where I had started. It led me back to Logan. So I gave in. I didn’t want to run anymore. I stayed. With Logan.

And that was the beginning of the end. I should have seen it coming because things with Logan – they never ended well.

The wall I had built around me came crumbling down piece by piece every day we were together. And every day we were apart, I fell back into my old rhythm and tried to repair that wall, but never just as much. So eventually the wall fell completely and I wasn’t able to repair it anymore. In a moment of carelessness I told myself _why not?_. Why not take it one step one further and agree to become Mrs. Logan Echolls.

It was that carelessness which got Logan killed.

My mind was so preoccupied with getting married and being at the county clerk’s office by four all dressed up and ready that I lost focus. I never managed to see the whole picture when I should’ve because the only thing I could think of was Logan. I could’ve put a stop to all of this if I’d just listened to my gut.

My dad keeps telling me that this _coulda, woulda, shoulda_ isn’t gonna help. Part of me knows he’s right because there’s nothing I can do to bring Logan back from the dead. But part of me also knows that for the rest of my life, I have to live knowing that _I_ am the one responsible for his death. That bomb wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for _me_.

I can’t count anymore how often I have heard _time heals all wounds._ That’s one of those shitty things people tell you when they just don’t know what else to say. Time may heal some wounds, but it sure as hell won’t heal all. How could it when everything around you reminds you of just how much you’ve lost.

It was time for me to leave Neptune and continue on a path that for once wouldn’t return me to where I’d started. There is no Logan to come back to anymore.

Outside of Neptune, people don’t know me. They don’t know Veronica Mars, the unfortunate woman whose husband died in a car bombing on their wedding day. _My condolences_. My ass. They just know Veronica Mars, private investigator. It’s refreshing to not be judged by something that I’m trying to put past me. During the day, it’s easy to be my charming self. I chat a little bit, throw in a few snarky quips, get the info I need, case solved. The loneliness comes at night when I walk into my room at hotel solitude number one hundred. 

This is my nightly routine. I drop my shoes and jacket right by the door because really, there’s no-one who cares. The light stays off as I cross the room and grab a bottle of O’Doul’s out of the cooler that’s sitting under the table. I fall on the bed, giving myself my five minutes of misery as I silently stare at the ceiling searching for that sudden revelation that life indeed could be better. It never comes. So I finally give up, open the bottle, reach for the remote and turn on the TV. I fall asleep with the background noise it provides so I don’t feel just as alone.

And then comes the nightmare. Every night it’s the same fucking one. I run towards Logan. I scream his name. My hand reaches for him but I never get close enough. Then I hear and feel the blast. I’m trying to catch my breath but all I can feel is the heat of the fire against my skin as the air is knocked out of me and I’m yanked away, far out of reach. No matter what I do, I cannot save him.

So night after night, this nightmare wakes me screaming for Logan. Then come the tears when I see the empty spot next to me. I’m alone. I’ve lost everything.

I’m no stranger to nightmares. They’ve haunted me before. First Lilly. Then the kids on the school bus. How I got rid of them? I gave in and paid attention to what they were telling me. The closer I got to the truth, the less frequently I had them. And once I’d solved the puzzle and gotten justice, they were gone for good.

This time, that’s not an option. Penn Eppner is serving 25 to life for the spring break bombings, justice is served. The day they read the sentence, I had hopes the nightmare would stop. It didn’t. It’s like it’s trying to tell me something and until I can figure out what it is, it’ll be my constant companion.

_I left the number for my therapist._

I tried hanging with Jane. But where did it get me? Sleeping in a new hotel room every other night. Going from place to place with nowhere to call home. After I told dad that I was calling it quits with therapy, he urged me to keep trying - after all, he kept pointing out, it was what Logan would have wanted. Yeah… if therapy would bring Logan back, I’d do it in a heartbeat a thousand times over. But therapy isn’t gonna bring him back, nor can it help me. There’s only one person who can and he isn’t around anymore. Veronica Mars is broken and nothing will ever change that.

So how does my nightly routine end? Probably just as you’d expect. I drag myself out of bed because really, there’s no way I could go back to sleep anyway. I get dressed and not even five minutes later, I walk outside into the night and start running. Just a mile or two, sometimes five, or even ten. It’s the only time when I can stop thinking because all that matters at that moment is me. My me and myself time. One foot in front of the other. Breath in, breath out.

By the time I get back to my room at the hotel, the sun’s usually up. It’s always a ground floor room for an easy escape. Car parked not 50 feet away from the entrance. I hold the keycard against the lock, waiting for the light to change and the door to open. I step into the dark and silent room and close the door behind me. Then I reach for the cooler to grab a bottle of water while I kick off my sneakers.

This morning, however, when I reach for the cooler, something is different. Just as I bend down, I hear a creaking noise coming from the bathroom. I spin around and immediately reach for the gun that’s stuck in my waistband. It takes me just a second to make out what has caught my attention. The shadow of a person is emerging from the open bathroom door.

_Don’t move._

Of course, it happens as it usually does. The person doesn’t listen. So I tighten the grip on my gun. I’m about to give my usual second warning, just a little more intense to get my point across but still with my charming snark when I hear a familiar voice I thought I’d never hear again.

_Hello Veronica._

I can feel every muscle in my body tense as he walks towards me. I fix my stare on my gun as he reaches for it. I allow him to take it from me slowly and he places it on the table next to him. Next to us. My eyes follow suit. I don’t want to look up. This is just a dream. My nightmares must have reached a new level of torment.

_Veronica, look at me._

I can feel tears in my eyes as his voice ripples through me. This can’t be. It simply can’t be. Logan is dead. I saw my wrecked car. I stood in front of his grave. They even handed me a goddamn flag during the service we held for him.

_On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy and a grateful Nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service._

I can feel his fingers brushing against my cheek as he turns my face towards him. My eyes snap shut. I don’t want to look. This isn’t anything but one of my tormenting nightmares and I fear that when I open my eyes, all I will see is the darkness of my motel room.

_Look at me._

As much as I want to resist, I can’t any longer. I open my eyes slowly and there he is in front of me. Logan. The man I buried a year ago. I turn my face into his touch, and the realization finally hits that this is not a dream. This is real.

_Logan._

My mind is reeling. Why – what – when – how. So many different emotions are running through me, but as much as I try, it’s the anger that gets the better of me. Emotion number one. I can feel my palm burning as I slap him across the face without a warning. He looks back at me surprised. I know he didn’t see that one coming because frankly, neither did I.

_I guess I deserved that._

And from emotion number one I switch right to number two. Panic. I can feel the anxiety rising and I’m at the verge of a full-fledged panic attack. There’s no way I can deal with this right now. So I turn and do what I always do – I leave. I’m out of the room, dashing across the parking lot in no particular direction. Just get away, it doesn’t matter where I’m headed. Behind me, I can hear him calling out for me over and over.

_Veronica! Stop! Please! Veronica!_

I can hear the footsteps following me and I keep on running. If there’s something I am good at, it’s just that. Running. I have almost reached the small picnic area that separates the motel from the Waffle House next door when he catches up with me. His fingers dig into my upper arms, forcing me to stop dead in my tracks. He bumps into me, his body flush against mine. I can feel his breath against my neck as he leans in.

_Veronica, stop!_

When I hear him whispering in my ear, I finally lose it for good. Emotions number three, four and five come all at once. Confusion. Sadness. Despair. My knees buckle but before I can slip out of his grip, he spins me around and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. I can feel tears running down my cheeks as I sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. I no longer want to struggle against his embrace so I just let go. As we stand in the middle of the picnic area, there comes emotion number six. Relief.

I don’t know how long we stood there, hugging, crying, and honestly, I don’t care. I am right where I longed to be for so long. His arms around me, his face buried in my hair. There are no words to describe just how much I have missed that.

_People are staring at us. We must be putting on quite a show._

I can’t help but chuckle. Of all things, that's his biggest problem right now. People staring at us.

_This is po-dunk Tennessee and we’re next to a Waffle House. This is probably the next best thing these people have seen since The Bachelor got canned._

_Damn, I forgot to bring a rose._

There it is. Falling right back into our old rhythm which, right this moment, I’d say is probably a good thing to ease the tension. I lift my head and look up at him. The first thing I notice is that look of boyish mischief on his face which quickly fades into a mix of concern and comfort when he sees my tear-stricken face. He pushes a strand of hair out of my face before he wipes away the trail of tears on my cheek with his thumb.

_You okay?_

Am I okay? If that’s supposed to be a joke, I’m used to better ones from the king of snark, Logan Echolls. And if that actually was a serious question, he’s most definitely lost his mojo. Emotionally, I am in a lot of places right now but clearly, okay isn’t one of them.

_No?_ is all I can manage. I mean, how could I? I just found out that my dead husband was in fact, pretty much alive.

He nods his head back towards the motel. _Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?_

He takes my hand into his and his fingers curl tightly around mine. For a moment, all I can do is stare at our locked hands before I look back up at him and silently nod.

The motel room door isn’t even fully closed behind us when he swirls me around and pulls me back into his arms. His lips come crashing down on mine and I can taste the desperation and the need. His hands are on my back as he lifts me up and tightens the embrace. I wrap my legs around him just as I’ve done so many times before and he turns us around, stumbling backwards until he bumps into the bed behind him. He falls backwards onto the mattress and I come crashing down on top of him.

If there is one thing that has never been a problem for Logan and me, it’s the sex. He just gets me. When I need it hard and fast, he’s my own, private Christian Grey. And when I need it slow and tender, you would not believe just how much a gentleman he can be. I never even need to say how or where or what because like I said, he just gets me.

We’re in sync. In rhythm. We’re together.

His hands are everywhere and nowhere as they explore my body as if it was the first time. His lips travel down the side of my neck and he finds that one spot that he knows will send pins and needles surging through my body. My head is spinning and I’m about to lose control but just as always, he’s there to catch me.

For the first time in over a year, I drift off in the arms of the man I love with the knowledge that for once, the nightmare most probably will not return.

What wakes me up later is the light movement of a hand on my bare back. Circles. He’s moving his hand in circles. Jesus motherfucker how have I missed that. My head is resting against his chest and I can hear the faint beating of his heart as his chest rises slowly. Up and down. Up and down.

My fingers trail over his torso and I feel the scars beneath my touch. Tiny scars, about two dozen of them, right up to his shoulder. There’s a patch of burnt skin on the side of his neck that hasn’t healed all too well. Shrapnel from the blast must have hit him full force.

All of a sudden all I can think of is _a year_ . It’s been a fucking year since the bombing. Why has it taken him over a year to come back to me? I know it’s pretty delusional to think that I’d get up one morning, pick up the phone and hear a _hello Veronica_ from a person I had buried not long before. But still, a year?

I slip out of his arms and sit up on the bed, tugging my legs under me. He rolls on his side, props his head up on his elbow and looks at me silently. I’m waiting for him to say something – anything – but he doesn’t. I need an explanation, and if I have to screw the truth out of him, then I will literally just do that.

_We gotta talk._

_Pretty dinky place you picked. It was pretty easy to jimmy the bathroom window. You should be more careful._

_Logan._

_What? You said we needed to talk. I’m making conversation._

There's a time when it’s ok to beat around the bush and there's a time when it’s not. Right now, it’s most definitely the latter. 

_It’s been over a year, Logan. Where the hell have you been?_

He lets out a sigh as he sits up across from me and reaches for his boxer briefs that, in the heat of the moment, have landed on top of the lamp on the nightstand. He is so predictable. Always get dressed before the serious talk so we don’t get distracted. I slip on my t-shirt, and not five minutes later, we are both sitting cross-legged on the bed. He’s sipping on a bottle of O’Doul’s, and I can see he’s searching for just the right words to say. All I can think is, _just spill it, Logan_. This is one story I sure as hell want to hear.

_So? What the fuck was so incredibly important that you ran out on me on our wedding day, letting me believe you were dead? I buried you for crying out loud! Do you have any idea what you did to me?_

_I know what you’ve been through. And I would change it in a heartbeat if I could! I’d give everything to take back the last year!_

_Don’t pretend you have even the slightest idea what I’ve gone through._

And we’re back to emotion number one mixed in with new number seven. Anger and annoyance.

_And you have no idea what I’ve been through!_

_Well, how could I? It’s not like you kept in contact at all._

_Because I thought you were dead, Veronica!_

Now that came out of nowhere. My eyebrows twitch as I stare at him in shock and bewilderment. And we’re back to emotion number three. Confusion.

_You thought_ I _was dead? I saw the wreck that used to be my car. I saw you standing in front of that very same car only minutes before. I saw you getting into that car. How could you possibly think I was dead?_

_Will you just hear me out? I don’t remember much after I left the apartment to move the car. I remember you shouting something about Fiji of all places. I remember the car of city street maintenance pull up next to me and asking me to get out of the car because I had a flat in the back. After that, everything is blank. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room a week later. Alone._

If he’s lost a week between the bombing and waking up in the hospital, his injuries must have been more severe than just the shrapnel scars and superficial burns that I can see.

_My captain told me there’d been an accident. He said the spring break bomber had put a bomb in your car. You’d run out of the apartment to warn me. He said I’d been lucky. And that you didn’t make it. He gave me the police reports to read and I –_

He never finishes the sentences. He just stares at the bottle in his hand as he twists it between his fingers and avoids looking at me. We sit in silent for a moment, before I bring up the courage to talk. 

_Didn’t you ever think about calling anyone? Text message? Email? Letter? Postcard? Your friends are all still here, Logan._

_As if any one of them cared about me! No-one came to see me. I was in the ICU for two fucking weeks and no-one called, no-one came to visit. And you know why I thought they all kept distance? Because they all blamed me for your death. Keeping you safe and protecting you is all I've ever wanted and I didn't manage that! Not when I was 19, not when I was 33! Who was I trying to explain to them why they shouldn't blame me when I blamed myself the most? I deserved the way they treated me and dropped me like hot coal._ He’s looking back up at me with a mix of hurt, anger and blame. _Do you know what a shitty feeling it is when you wake up one morning to find out the one person that matters to you the most is gone and no-one seems to be bothered to find out how you’re coping? I was alone, Veronica. There was no-one there for me and I was this close to going off the rails. It scared the fucking shit out of me because that’s not the person I ever wanted to be again._

I’ve seen what going off the deep end looked like for Logan. In high school, it was the usual sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. After Lilly’s death, he became Neptune High’s most famous bully. You know, that obligatory psychotic jackass every high school has. His favorite target? Yeah, that was me. And then came the day when I found out who Logan Echolls really was.

How do you call someone who stands on the ledge of a bridge, drunk, and ready to jump? Deeply troubled. Disturbed. Unhinged.

A lot of things go on behind closed doors, and the Echolls household was no different. Logan’s father was the posterboy of a psychopath. You didn’t live up to Aaron Echolls’ standards? He lashed out. Cigarette burns, broken bones and noses, battered limbs and bruises. But abusing his son and driving his wife into suicide wasn’t enough - he killed my best friend and then he also tried to kill me. What a role model.

My relationship with Logan back then was toxic. Like fire and ice. Darkness and light. Opposites drawn together that couldn’t be together, but also couldn’t be apart. I know now that we both first needed to figure out who we really were and who we wanted to be before we could ever be a thing.

_I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me… spanning years and continents. Lives ruined. Bloodshed. Epic._

I still remember his drunk ramblings as if it was yesterday. About how he wished he could have done things differently. About how songs weren’t written about the relationships that come easy. And about how I had broken his heart. It took me ten years to find out this wasn’t just some spur of the moment mindless drivel of a teenage boy who’d had his heart broken because the morning he left for a six months long deployment, he told me the exact same thing again. _Lives ruined. Bloodshed._ He couldn’t have been more right.

_They wanted me for a key role in a covert mission,_ Logan’s voice breaks me out of my reverie, _and I was thinking, why just pretend to live that Mission Impossible-esque life when you can actually be Ethan Hunt. I didn’t have anything to lose. There was no-one that it was worth coming back for. So I signed up and they shipped me off to Syria. I was hoping that that at least would give me some purpose and keep me from slipping away._

Slipping away… I’ve heard that story before. Logan on a surfboard out in the ocean, ready to slip off and allow the waves to swallow him completely. How desperate does a boy have to be to first stand on a bridge, stare down at the water beneath him, not caring if he was gonna fall or not and then move to lay on his board just a couple years later, intentionally thinking about ending his life. 

At seventeen, I was too young to really comprehend just how broken he was. Criminal mischief, assault, arson… I never really understood that those were his cries for help. And two years later, my leaving him and telling him I never wanted to see him again sent him on that downward spiral that almost destroyed him. I guess I never realized just how much of a stabilizing factor I had been in his life until all those years later when he started telling me about the alcohol, the drugs, the first OD that almost killed him, then the second. It scared the shit out of me when he told me all that. Now, it’s even more frightening to think that after all he’s been through, after all the hard work he’s put into becoming who he is, there was this possibility he may have slipped back into his old ways. Again because of me. 

_You know, I did call once. I was so completely out of it and didn’t know what else to do than call your dad and just talk to him about you so I could feel better. I swiped that stupid satelite phone from the commander’s tent six times before I actually brought up the courage to dial._

He takes a sip from his bottle and looks at me, waiting for a reaction. This time, I can give him one, but it’s probably not the one he wants. I’m getting really frustrated with him because so far, I haven’t heard anything that even remotely resembles a good explanation. And I don’t need just good. I need outstanding, excellent, stellar because honestly, there are only so many things he could say that could make this whole last year bearable. 

_If you did he’d either be recuperating from a heart attack because he thought he was visited by the ghost of Christmas Past or I’d have to go visit him in Chino because he tracked you down and killed you. Since neither is true, I call that bullshit. So which crappy story is it, Logan?_

_It’s the story where he didn’t pick up._ He pauses for a moment and just looks at me, before he whispers, _you did._

And once again we’re back to emotion number three and I am left speechless. Oddly enough though, I do remember a strange call at the house at 4am in the morning a few weeks back. When I picked up the phone, all I could hear was heavy breathing. I shrugged it off as a prank call but me being me, I needed to return the favor of an early morning wake-up call. However, dialing *69 told me the call couldn’t be completed because I was trying to call an international number that couldn’t be retrieved. So I just dropped the case.

_I heard your voice and I - I just cracked. So I hung up._

_Why didn’t you say anything?_

_And tell you what, Veronica? My mind was reeling because I had just found out that the one person that matters to me the most in this world wasn’t dead like everyone had told me. You bolted earlier, so cut me some slack here, please._

Touché.

_I was stuck in the desert in fucking Syria and I didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t and who I could trust and who I couldn’t. Someone was playing a dirty game with me. I couldn’t just call the one person who I knew would help me out in a pinch because while I was led to believe that you were killed off by a bomb, you apparently were still very much alive back in Neptune but not talking to me anymore for whatever reason. So I paid off a guy I trusted enough not to rat me out to my commander for information. He dug up this documentary about the bombings that must have run on national television._

He doesn’t need to tell me about that atrocious piece some people might even call one of the finest docudramatic programs out there - assuming that the definition of people includes Penn Eppner. They took a lot of creative liberties in storytelling but in the end, it came down to one thing. _Survival hinged on the Mars family._ Yup, that was us. The documentary brought Eppner a substantial increase in his bank account and us a lot of publicity, both good and bad. Maybe I should be thankful for that because it is what keeps dad and I busy and afloat and me out of Neptune.

_Everyone kept telling me I needed to move on, put you and what happened to rest._ He inhales deeply in what I perceive to be an attempt to steady his voice and keep the quiver hidden. _But letting you go never was that easy. I did what I always did. Replaced the booze with the danger and the drugs with the thrill. I dove head first into the most dangerous situations I could find because I just wanted to forget. Forget you. Forget us. Anything to make the pain go away. I should’ve known better than to walk down that path again. Logan Echolls, the ever fuck-up. Never able to keep his life in check._

_Stop. Don’t._

Logan may be a lot of things, but what he most definitely isn’t anymore is that teenage fuck-up he used to be. We’ve both been fooled, so shame on me as well. I reach out for him, my hand travelling to the back of his neck as I pull his face close to mine. If there is one thing I can’t handle right now, it is the classic Mars-Echolls heartbreak. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

_I love you._

There is a faint smile on his face, so I seem to have pulled him off this narrow ledge, even if only for the moment. I close my eyes and lean in to rest my forehead against his. Where do we go from here? Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I’m still reeling and most probably it’s gonna take quite some time to fully comprehend what has just happened. The only upside? Logan is back in my life and I sure as hell will make sure it’s gonna stay that way. 

Our short moment of solitude is gravely interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by a shrill _housekeeping!_ Shit. I quickly glance at the clock on the nightstand and notice that check-out time is only 15 minutes away. I shout out _one minute_ and am off the bed just in time to hear the electronic lock on the door being opened. Luckily, Logan put on the swing guard and the door cracks open just an inch.

_We’ll be out in 15 minutes,_ I tell the housekeeper before I push the door closed. Then I turn back to Logan, who shrugs his shoulders at me. _I have to be in court back in Neptune on Thursday morning. Since I drove out here, I have exactly three days to make the drive back. I had planned on leaving by the crack of dawn already, but then this thing got in the way._

I wave my hand between us as I make my way across the room to look for my jeans which I thought I’d left on the chair in the back.

_Ah, it’s always business with you._

_Sorry for not scheduling in the reappearance of my dead husband._

I can see a smile forming on his lips. If he thinks this was just one of my regular quips, I really have to work on my annoyed undertone.

_I know, it’s quite amusing. You’re a new regular on the Walking Dead now. Walking zombie husband number two._

I wave my hands in front of me to underline my annoyance before I look under the table for my still-missing pants.

_I’m making an awesomely stunning zombie, aren’t I? And you do realize that you’ve just called this zombie here your husband for the very first time._

I flip my head over my shoulder, hitting my head against the underside of the table in doing so which prompts a chuckle from Logan. Ouch. Rubbing my hand over the back of my head, I most probably don an expression of embarrassment and awkwardness about being called out on the fact that yes, I have indeed called him my husband to his face for the very first time. Beam me up, Scotty. Ground swallow me whole. Though really, why should I even be embarrassed about calling him that? We are married, he is my husband, and I have referred to him as such on numerous occasions. I just may never have gotten the chance to actually say it to him.

_C’mon, wife, if you want to be out of here by 12, you need to hurry._

Moving on from the awkwardness. Thanks, really. He bends down and picks up my jeans, throwing them my way and hitting me right in the face as I get up. I narrow my eyes on him, giving him a playful _payback’s a bitch_ , before I turn and walk into the bathroom – and immediately step on the shower curtain that once hung on the appropriate rod instead of lying ripped on the floor. The small window next to the shower is still partially open – opened fully, it’s big enough for a man of Logan’s size to squeeze through. Except that said window is about six feet off the ground, and the only thing in reach to hold onto when climbing through is the shower rod and curtain.

_Yeah, remind me again why you thought it was such a good idea to break in through the bathroom window?_ I shout out as I pick up my toothbrush and toothpaste from the sink and head back to the main room to stash them in my duffle.

_Because my lock-picking skills didn’t quite work on the electronic door lock?_

_Do you know how much the motel will probably charge me for that? What happened to the old-fashioned knock on the door?_

_Well, you didn’t promise me for better or worse so I figured I wasn’t gonna take any chances and have a door slammed right into my face. Or worse._

I roll my eyes, frustrated with his cocky replies. Truth is though – I have missed this. Our constant bickering about the most trivial things... a regular snark festival. It annoyed the hell out of me back in high school because he was the only person who could really challenge me in any verbal encounters. When I threw something at him, he always had the perfect comeback. The fights weren’t always funny or nice; there were a lot of scathing comments and insults thrown into the mix. But what is it that people tell their kids? Teasing is a sign of affection. And in our case, that certainly goes both ways.

Twenty minutes and a 200 dollar damages charge on my credit card later, we’re on our way to Logan’s hotel in Chattanooga to pick up his stuff. After that, it’s road trip time. Three days on the road means lots of time to talk. And it doesn’t look like we’ll be running out of interesting conversation material any time soon. Topics can range from _who took Logan and why_ to _where do we go from here_. One more entertaining than the other. But there is one thing he can surely answer me right now.

_How did you find me here?_

He gives me the cocky reply I should have expected, _there’s this PI I know. Picked up a few tricks of the trade along the way._

If he wants to play, let the games begin. We’ve got time to kill. 

_And those tricks helped you find me in the middle of nowhere? Dude, I’m impressed. You need a new job?_

_Who’s offering and what are they paying?_

_Mmmh, 300 for a day’s work, expenses covered by pay. No work, no pay._

_350 a day, expenses extra according to tab. And a company car._

_300 a day, expenses paid extra, and you may borrow the company car._

_I’m sorry, but the 350 is fixed. I have excellent references._

_You’re driving a very hard bargain, Mr. Echolls._

_Professional expertise always has a certain price tag._

This is just so us. Things get awkward or tough? We turn to the sassy, tongue-in-cheek banter to avert any possible face-off that will inadvertently leave us angry, mad, distraught or worse. We’re so caught up in our rackety slugfest that I almost miss the turn into the hotel parking lot. He tells me to park the car in the rear next to the back entrance. A couple minutes later, we’re on the elevator up to the fourth floor. We’re not even near room 423 when I finally figure out just exactly how Logan managed to find me.

_V! Long time no see!_

Rounding the corner of the hallway is one Dick Casablancas.

_I’m most definitely taking that job offer back,_ I tell Logan as I nudge him in the side with my elbow. _Dick. Really?_

_I needed help and he was available._

This whole setup most definitely explains the text messages I received from Dick a few days ago.

Pulling the Logan card was a cheap trick. But Dick was - is his best friend, so I thought _what the heck_ and called. And ended up telling him I’d have lunch with him when I get back from Tennessee. For old time’s sake, and on his tab.

_So Dick, how much of that crap you fed me on the phone a couple days ago was actually true?_

_Maybe this much?_ He holds his fingers about an inch apart. _In my defense, I did it all out of a deep consideration for my bro Logan here and his undying love for you. I still don’t understand why, but he literally would walk to the end of the world for you. Playing Cupid for you guys wasn’t really my first choice – however, if you’d seen what a wreck he was when he showed up on my doorstep last week, you’d understand. A little compassion, please?_

I look over at Logan and instinctively reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly. This, of course, cannot be left without a comment from the former king of spring break.

_I’ll give you two lovebirds some time to make up. Again. I think. Given how long it took you to show up here, I sure hope you didn’t spend all that time talking._ He winks at Logan with a naughty smirk. _I was just gonna go on a burger run. How does an hour sound?_ He first studies me from head to toe, then does the same with Logan. _Okay, I’ll make that two. My codeword when I come back? Whipped cream. You both better be decent when I come in._

_Take as long as you need. We’re just gonna pick up my stuff and then we’ll hit the road._

_Road to where?_

_Home?_ I tell him, giving him an irritated look which pretty much goes right over his head because his reply is clearly lacking his usual snark.

_You’re driving back to Neptune? Dude, that’s like…. a thousand miles. That’s gonna take forever._

_It’s about two thousand miles, and yes, it’ll take the better of three days of straight driving, or in your words – it’ll take almost forever._

_You know, Ronnie, there are those comfortable transportation devices with wings on either side and seats inside that people call airplanes. They can get you from A to B in a jiffy. The Gulfstream is still parked at the airport._

_A private plane? That’s pretty lavish._

_And pretty handy. I’ll have the champagne restocked before takeoff. And I’ll make sure I can ride shotgun with the pilot meaning you guys can have the cabin all to yourselves. Privacy and such so you can get all lovey-dovey. No peaking from me, promised._

_We’ll pass,_ Logan finally says and thus, puts an end to this rather frisky conversation with Dick. _I’ll give you a call when we’re back in Neptune._

_You better. Cause this guy here wants all the details about everything that happened since, you know, the B-O-M-B. It would make an awesome Hollywood blockbuster._

We’re both shaking our heads as we walk past him. I can hear the faint ding of the elevator just as we hit the corner of the hallway. I stop for a moment, and turn back over my shoulder.

_Dick?_ He turns around at the sound of his name. _Thanks._

He throws his arms up in the air. _Sorry, what was that? Did Veronica Mars just thank me?_

_Don’t push your luck,_ I chuckle awkwardly before I turn back and follow Logan to their room. He holds his keycard against the lock, and after a short beep, opens the door.

_So how come the first person you go see when back in Neptune is Dick? Care to elaborate?_ I ask him when we step into a generously large suite.

_Do I sense some jealousy?_

I throw him a look that immediately tells him that I am dead serious. With a sigh, he picks up the duffle bag sitting on the couch and swings it over his shoulder.

_He wasn’t,_ he starts, and the shift in his tone tells me he is in for the serious talk _._ He walks into one of the adjoining rooms and drops the bag onto the bed. I follow him and stop in the doorway, leaning against the frame with my arms crossed as I watch him stuff his belongings into the duffle.

_I went by our apartment and saw that you weren’t living there anymore,_ he continues, avoiding eye contact with me. _I figured the next best place to find you would be your office. I sat outside the building in a car for two straight days but you never showed. When I only saw your dad coming and going with Pony, I wasn’t so sure anymore if I had actually heard your voice on the phone or if it was just me going off the deep end for good. So option one: I could go talk to your dad and either spook him completely because obviously, I’m a character on the Walking Dead, or I could tear up old wounds because if_ you _were dead, he sure didn’t wanna talk to me about it – otherwise he’d have called. Option two: I could go see Dick and talk to him instead. I figured your dad had probably been through enough either way, so I thought Dick was the better option._

Okay, he’s got a point. Given how I reacted to the news of him still being alive, I think it was probably wise he didn’t just show up unannounced at the office. And Dick being Dick – I can only imagine his reaction to seeing Logan well and alive to be somewhere between offering him a beer and high-fiving him on ditching me the way he did.

I have no idea how we’re going to tell dad or anybody else for that matter, but that’s not something I’m really worried about right now. One step at a time. We have three days of road tripping ahead of us which should give us enough time to come up with a plan.

_I really need to talk to dad if he didn’t catch you camping outside the office for two days,_ I mutter, shaking my head slightly _._

Logan walks up to me, that cheeky smile on his face that he always gives me when he is trying to get a certain point across, _Told you I picked up a few tricks along the way._

I pat his chest lightly, _Yeah, don’t try to turn all Magnum P.I. on me._

_Are you suggesting I couldn’t pull off that Navy officer turned PI thing? I got the uniform, I got the skills, and I even got the looks._

He rests an arm on the doorframe above me, and the change from cheeky to cocky in his expression as he leans in closer to me tells me he certainly isn’t up to any good.

_Self-confidence borders on overconfidence, my friend,_ I warn him at which he just rolls his eyes in reply.

_I really missed getting picked on by you._

_Oh, I know you did._

_How so?_

_Because you’re a masochist?_

He laughs and pushes a strand of my hair out of my face, _I probably must be - seeing what kind of a wife I picked._

He leans in for a kiss, and once again, my people reading skills have not failed me. He definitely is not up to any good. Slow and tender suddenly turns into frantic and desperate and I immediately lose myself in him completely and give in to the pent up need. His thumbs hook into the waistband of my jeans, and he jerks me close to him. I hook my leg around his while I go for his belt, impatiently working on the buckle which, of course, won’t budge as fast as I want it to. Logan’s hands slide around my waist, and I can feel his fingers feverishly slip into my pants as one hand comes to rest on my butt, stuck between my jeans and my panties.

I’m so caught up in him that I don’t quite realize that he is slowly maneuvering us through the room until he suddenly picks me up and throws me onto the bed. And as fast as this need for bodily intimacy has come it’s gone just as fast, and reality is right back in check. Pictures of our bedroom window shattering at the sound of an explosion, of me being hurled back onto our bed, of broken glass flying in each and every direction and the sounds of a blaring car alarm and people screaming flood my mind instantly. I tense involuntarily as he kisses me, and my body starts to shake at the memory of that dreadful day.

_Stop, stop, stop, stop!_ I manage to say as I crawl out from under him. I’m desperately trying to fight back the tears that are welling in my eyes. I don’t want him to see me like this, so I run out of the room and out onto the balcony to catch some fresh air. Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three, four. In. And out. I wrap my arms around my body to stop the trembling. Breathe in. And out. I’m on the verge of yet another panic attack.

They came pretty frequently in the weeks following the bombings but as time went on, I learned to live with them and how to handle myself, so the panic attacks during the day stopped and all that was left was the recurring nightmare. I haven’t had a panic attack in over six months, so two in one day is a definite step backward. I feel like I’m losing control again, and that scares the shit out of me. I need to be in control, anything else is not acceptable.

I hear Logan walk up. Silently, he puts a hand on my shoulder. And that’s all he does. No quip, no joke, nothing. He just stands behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting it out. It takes the better part of fifteen minutes for my labored breathing to turn back to what could be considered normal. Logan is there the whole time, keeping his distance while letting me know he’s there should I need him.

When he figures I’m calm enough, he moves to stand next to me, staring off into the distance just like I am.

_What was the trigger?_ he asks me quietly without even looking at me.

Even though Logan rarely talked about it, I know he’s seen his fair share of horrible stuff in the Navy. He was good at hiding certain things from me, and I didn’t push for him to tell, but once in a while I got a glimpse at a reaction from him that I knew was triggered by something that must have happened to him while on duty. Things like an involuntary jerk and duck at the sound of a car alarm in our vicinity or the immediate reach for his gun, whether he had it holstered or not, after a misfired engine. So yeah, Logan is no stranger to this. He’s just had a lot more practise.

_The blast threw me back on our bed,_ I tell him, and take a deep breath, reassuring myself that I was in fact back in full control of my own body.

He whispers that he’s sorry before he places an arm around my waist and pulls me close to him. Resting my head back against his shoulder, I close my eyes for a moment to make sure the horrific pictures I usually have in my head during a panic attack are gone. One. Two. Three. Four. I open my eyes again, and the pictures are, indeed, gone.

My hand searches for Logan’s, and I give it a light squeeze. This is my way of saying thanks. For not judging. For just being here.

_Maybe we should just hit the road. It’s a long drive back to Neptune,_ he finally says, and I just nod silently. _You take the time you need. I’ll be inside._

He places a kiss on top of my head before he lets go off my hand and takes a step back. I turn around and reach for him again, taking a hold of his hand to keep him from leaving me. Our fingers link as he looks at me with that comforting smile, and I can feel my lips curl into a faint smile of my own.

_I’m okay._

His eyes tell me that he knows I’m lying, but he just accepts it without a word. We walk back into the suite, pick up Logan’s bag and are back on the road without even saying a word. He suggests he drive which is a welcome offer as today’s events seem to have worn me out not only emotionally, but also physically. We ride in silence for what seems like an eternity to me, when in fact, it was just a short ride up I-24 towards Nashville. About fifteen minutes into the drive his hand finds its way onto my upper thigh, and it’s just the right amount of intimacy I need and crave right now. Eventually, I pick it up and place a kiss against his palm which prompts him to look over at me.

_I’m starving,_ I state, which elicits a chuckle from him.

_Gotta feed my woman then before she goes raiding the expired vanilla cupcakes I saw stashed on the floor in the backseat,_ he muses. _Sit down or fast food?_

_How long do you fancy staying on the road today?_

_Drive-through it is then._

I drop his hand back in his own lap, then pick up my phone to search for what’s off the next exit. We’re given the choice between pretty much every fast food chain there is, so I ask Logan to pull off the highway because the next chance we’d get to eat something would be 50 miles up north in the Greater Nashville area. This certainly is no man’s land once you leave the cities and dive into the rural backcountry areas. 

He pulls into the parking lot of a strip mall that has Wendy’s sitting on one end and Burger King on the other so we can decide which one of these wicked establishments has the honor of doing business with us today. Wendy’s wins out, even if it's just for the marginally better salad they serve. I’m just about to tell Logan to add a chocolate frosty to our to go order when my phone suddenly starts vibrating. I pick it out of my back pocket and read the caller ID on the screen. Shit. I forgot my customary morning call to dad.

I hold my phone up for Logan so he can read the caller ID, _not a word._

_And I’m suddenly feeling like we’re in high school again,_ he mutters playfully, and I shoot him a warning right as I answer the call, _hey dad_.

_\- Hey sweetheart. –_

_Sorry I forgot to check-in this morning. I’ve been a little… preoccupied._

_\- Where are you? It’s pretty noisy, I can hardly hear you. –_

_I’m picking up food for the road._

I gesture at Logan, who’s waiting for our food to be ready, indicating that I’m taking the call outside because it is, indeed, a bit hard to understand dad over the noise in this overly busy fast food joint.

_\- Just passing on a message from Cliff. He wants to see us Wednesday night to go through our statements for the Milford case. 6 o’clock at the office. –_

_Raincheck? I got a late start today. So unless I pull an all-nighter on the road, I doubt I’ll make it back to Neptune in time. I’ll be in court Thursday morning 10am sharp though. Maybe Cliff can give me a call and we can do this over the phone?_

_\- Oh, you know how Cliff loves his one on one prep time. –_

_Are you really asking your daughter to pull an all-nighter?_

_\- I’m always telling my daughter to drive safely and obey each and every traffic law so she won’t get ticketed for any traffic violations. Again. Now Cliff on the other hand… -_

_I got it. I’ll give him a call tonight._

_\- Thanks, honey. And when you get home, we’ll have our usual talk about how Pony really misses you and wishes you’d stay longer than just a few days before heading out again. –_

_I miss you, too, dad. And if it makes Pony happy, I think I will actually stay a little longer this time._

_\- Who are you and what have you done with my daughter? –_

_Geez, I love you, too. There’s a few things I need to sort out._

_\- Everything okay? –_

I look up from my phone as I see Logan walking through the door. He holds up a bag with our food and a cardboard tray with three cups stacked inside and nods his heads towards the car as he walks past, letting me know he’ll wait for me over there until I finish my call.

_Yeah, everything’s just hunky-dory,_ I reply absentmindedly as I watch after Logan and decide to slowly make my way back to the car as well.

_\- Veronica… -_

_I’ll fill you in when I get back. And no, you do not need to worry about me, okay?_

_\- You know I worry about you all the time. It’s a father’s curse. You’ll always be my little girl. –_

_You know that actually sounds kinda creepy when you say that to someone my age?_

_\- I’m your maker. I’ll keep on calling you my little girl until you are ninety, blind, deaf and in a wheelchair. There’s nothing you can do about that, so deal with it. -_

I can’t help but chuckle, _bye, dad._

_\- Bye, honey. And love you. -_

I open the car door and slide back into the passenger seat, dumping my phone into the middle console before I reach for the chicken Caesar salad that Logan is holding out for me.

_Ice tea and chocolate frosty,_ he says and indicates the two cups sitting in the cup holders in the middle as he takes a bite out of the burger he’s holding in his hand.

_A baconator?_ I ask which is answered by him raising his eyebrows, _I felt adventurous today. Want some fries?_

He picks up the bag sitting in his lap and holds it out for me, but I just shake my head and reach for the ice tea instead.

_How’s your dad?_ he continues before taking yet another bite out of his burger, _I saw he doesn’t need a cane anymore._

_Remember the doctor that headless Dick sprang for? He found out that dad was given an improper combination of medications and that he needed a hip replacement. He’s as good as new._

I dig into my salad and watch him pluck a succession of French fries from the bag and stuff them into his mouth methodically, one at a time.

_Headless Dick,_ he muses while chewing on that mix of French fries and burger in his mouth. He swallows, then adds, _now that’s a much better description than the one Dick gave me._

_Why? What’d he say?_

_His dad was decapitated._

I have to chuckle as I take another forkful of my salad, _wow. That’s a mighty big word for Dick._

_Isn’t it? Headless Dick sounds a lot more Dick than decapitated Dick._ He reaches for the Coke he has stashed in the cup holder in the driver’s door, takes a quick sip out of it before putting it back. 

I give him a smile in return and hold out my hand for him so he can give me the bag with the leftover fries in and get back on the road now that he’s finished about half of his burger. I don’t want to push, but we’ve still got a little over 2,000 miles left until Neptune which I find just a tad bit unsettling. Luckily, he understands and we are back on the highway within minutes.

This - sitting in a car with Logan, chatting, laughing, and feasting on this awesomely good chocolate frosty I haven’t had in a very long while – feels just... so normal. It’s as if the last year never even happened and we’ve fallen right back into our usual rhythm. But we can’t just go on pretending that everything’s just splendid. We have to face reality, and figure out where we want to go from here. Except that Logan has a different approach to handling these situations - one that isn’t necessarily compatible with mine.

Even after all those years together, part of me still doesn’t know how to deal with this sanded down version of him – the one that doesn’t immediately blow up anymore at all the obstacles thrown his way but rather assesses them silently. He’s become the stabilizing factor in this relationship, the one that tries to change the things he can and accepts those he can’t. He’s the guy who chooses his battles carefully and goes into any discussion level-headed. He’s the guy who manages to keep his anger at bay and not allow it to destroy him anymore.

He once told me that I get to do the things I want to do, I just have to choose to do so. But in order to do that, I need to face my fears instead of running from them. So I made the leap and faced my fears and chose to do what I wanted to do. It bit me in the ass. Royally. We have to figure out though where we want to go from here. I know that if we don’t talk about it, it’ll be left hanging in the air and it will have me reeling and make me absolutely miserable. I’ve had enough misery for a lifetime. So I bite the bullet and make a leap of faith again.

_Logan,_ I start cautiously, trying to word what I'm about to say rather carefully as I lick the last remnants of the frosty off the plastic spoon, _you know we can’t just pretend that the last year didn’t happen. We gotta talk about it._

He glances over at me, obviously surprised at what I’ve just said, then turns his attention back to the road. _Don’t you think it’s rather peculiar that this is coming from the person who usually tries not to talk about the serious stuff? The same person who considers having sex and watching tv her kind of therapy?_

_Well, sex is pretty pointless if it’s just between yourself and a vibrator. And let’s face it, tv programming has really been going downhill these days._

_I’m sorry I can’t be of any help in the tv department._

_I’m serious, Logan. I don’t want to treat this as one of your regular I’m-gonna-disappear-for-an-unknown-time-and-will-turn-up-again-unannounced type of absences because that’s not what this is. Last year was…_ I stop mid-sentence, searching for just the right word which Logan supplies in a heartbeat, _hell?_

I take a deep breath before I continue, _I had just found a way to go on with my life and then you show up in my motel room in the middle of the night and everything is turned upside down again. I – don’t know how to handle this. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster and the ride doesn’t want to stop. Do I need to be happy, relieved, annoyed, angry, freaked out? Cause I’m all of that at the same freaking time and it’s confusing as hell._

_You really want to have this conversation right now, do you?_ He looks at me, and when I nod at him, he just sighs and goes on, _I can’t tell you what to feel, Veronica. But I can tell you that we’re definitely riding that rollercoaster together. I’m beyond happy and relieved to have you back,_ he reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it lightly, _but at the same time I’m just so damn angry about everything that was done to us and I’m scared that I’m not able to keep me in check anymore. Losing you has always been the worst thing that happened to me. You’ve seen how I was back in the day. It took a long time, but I came to accept that as long as you were still out there somewhere living your life and being happy, it would be enough for me. Thinking I had lost you forever turned me back into that angry teenager, just with double the heartbreak and double the rage. I was in some scary shitty place._

He stares at the road ahead, neither of us saying a word. This situation isn’t as easy peasy as we both want it to be, and I realize that maybe we’re not equipped to deal with this on our own. I’d usually be the last person to admit it, especially since so far, I haven’t fared well with this, but maybe Logan was right all along when he suggested we needed therapy.

_It took me years of therapy to get to a place where I was comfortable with myself. And then some shithead comes around, places a bomb in your car and just destroys everything._

I let him rattle on without interrupting. I feel it’s something he needs right now – letting off steam. Or more like, it’s something I need right now. Him telling me just exactly how cruel and unfair this world really is so I don’t feel just as alone in my miserable state of mind.

_I’ve been living in this funk for the last year and I just want it to stop. I want this back. Us back. I need us. Because that’s what keeps me in check. Us. You. Do I know where to go from here? Hell no. I have no fucking clue. There’s gonna be a lot of shit we’ll have to deal with when we get back to Neptune, but that’s still three days away. I want to spend those three days not thinking about what could come next that threatens to push my buttons again and make me hit rock bottom because this, you and me together, is all the therapy I need right now._

_I can give us those three days. You just have to promise me that if I touch your buttons, you tell me to shut up._

_I can do that. Confession time over?_

_No?_ I answer him, and he rolls his eyes, trying to fake a mild annoyance. _Full disclosure. You know I have my problems with trust and acceptance. My mind is going in tangents about why it took you over a year to come back to me. I’m really struggling with that and I don’t know how to make it stop. It’s probably not what you want to hear but I need some time to process this. I have no idea how long that’s gonna take, nor how I’ll be able to deal with this but I need to figure out how to tell my brain that I can fully trust you. So if I push you away for whatever reason, just know I’m not doing that on purpose. I’m really trying._ I pause for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts before I go on. _I guess maybe what I want to say is that this – us – is what I want and need in my life and that I don’t want you to question that even if I may give you a different impression. I’m fully committed, and not only since you put that ring on my finger. My heart and mind just aren’t on speaking terms right now._

He brings my hand he is still holding up to his lips and places a tender kiss against the back of it, _I know it feels all weird and wrong when we’re falling right back into our old rhythm. But truthfully, I don’t really know how else to be around you. This is us – it’s who I am, it’s who you are and it’s what makes us work. I don’t pretend it’s going to be easy going forward from here but I don’t want things between us to change just because we feel it’s what’s expected from us. I need us to be us._

_Screw what others think. We can go our own way. We always have._

_That’s my girl._

_One more confession to make,_ I go on after a short pause, as I feel there is one more thing I really need to tell him.

_Last one for today. After that, the confessional's closed and will reopen at 10am tomorrow._

This is his subtle way to tell me that he has reached a point where he cannot deal with any more emotional outbursts of any sort. We have had quite a few of those today, and I would very much like to follow his suggestion of giving us three days of solitude on the road before shit hits the fan when we reach Neptune and the world has to find out that Logan Echolls is still alive. But I feel this is something that I need to get out to establish some firm ground for our going forward from here.

_I did some hanging with Jane._

He looks at me surprised, _and?_

_It sucked,_ I chuckle nervously before I go on in my serious tone, _but I know how much you benefitted from therapy and if you think we’ll come to a point where we can’t deal with our shit on our own anymore and this could really help us, I may be open to try it again. Together with you._

_I mean that much to you?_

_You mean everything to me, you silly man._


	2. Epilogue

The creaking of the bedroom door opening wakes me. I crack my eyes open to glance at the clock on the nightstand. 6:48am. On a Saturday morning. I roll over to my side and bury my face in the pillow. Way too early. At least on a weekend, I want to sleep in late, enjoy some solitude with the man I love and not worry about the cruel world outside my front door. The bed shifts as Logan crawls back in behind me and rests his chin on my shoulder.

_There’s breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen._

With a sigh, I turn back around to face him. _Five more minutes, dad._

There’s a smile on his face as he says, _we’ve got company._

I roll my eyes at him in response. _How often have I told you that when people come knocking at 5 in the morning, you better not open the door. It could be a mass murderer._

_Mass murderers don’t knock._

He pulls me up in a sitting position and I give him an annoyed groan, _give your wife a little common courtesy. It’s a Saturday. I get to sleep in on a Saturday._

 _You do,_ he places a quick kiss on my lips, _I really was hoping to wait at least until 7 to wake you, but our company, she isn’t taking no for an answer. She’s very insistent and demanding that she needs to talk to you right now._

_The office is closed on the weekends._

_She doesn’t care._

I groan and tip my head back in frustration. _Fine. But it’s gonna cost her._

_She’s offering a kiss and a hug. Can I tell her you have a deal?_

_A kiss, a hug and some cuddling. Then it’s a deal._

_That sounds like a fair bargain if you ask me._

I watch after Logan leaving the room before I drag myself out of bed. I quickly ruffle my hair and reach for a hair tie on the nightstand that I use to pull my hair back into a ponytail. Black pajama shorts and a white tank top is not necessarily proper business attire, but in this case, it’ll do.

Not five minutes later I join Logan in the kitchen. He’s deep in conversation with our 5am visitor, apparently about a case of missing strawberries. I walk up to the counter, put my arm around his waist and place a quick kiss on his shoulder.

 _You taking cases about strawberries that seem to have magically gone poof?_ he asks and indicates an empty bowl on the counter next to a plate with a stack of pancakes.

 _The case of the missing strawberries. That’s gonna be an interesting one for sure,_ I chuckle and place my forearms on the counter. On the other side, our company is kneeling on a chair, giving me the most innocent look she can muster. Her lips are covered in red fruit juice, so it needs no genius to figure out where exactly those strawberries disappeared to.

 _So, Miss Ava,_ I start my interrogation with a playfully stern voice as I push the empty bowl in front of her, _you don’t happen to have seen where all those strawberries went, do you?_

She tucks her head to her side, a mischievous smile on her face. _Pony eated them._

I notice Pony’s head jerk up from his spot on the floor behind the counter at the sound of his name.

_You absolutely sure Pony ate all those strawberries?_

_He likes stwabewwies_.

_Really? I thought you like strawberries._

_I do! Vewy much!_

She bounces on the chair, causing her blonde hair to bob up and down. Like every morning, it’s sticking up in each and every direction and is just a giant jumbled mess. No one ever told me before that bed hair could look so adorably cute on anyone as it looks on Ava. 

_Maybe all those strawberries ended up in your tummy and not in Pony’s?_ I probe further, giving her a wink. It’s our secret sign – the one I always give her when storytime is over and the case is solved.

Ava giggles with delight, _you guessed! They’re in my tummy, mommy!_

I turn to Logan and shrug my shoulders, trying to give him my most serious voice, _they’re in her tummy. Case solved._

He rolls his eyes at me as he reaches over the counter and picks our daughter off the chair. He settles her in his arms, trying to give her a very stern look. 

_You ate all those strawberries? Didn’t I tell you to leave some for mommy and daddy?_

_They’re gooooooood, daddy,_ she replies, tipping her head back in frustration. Mmmh, I wonder where she got that from. She finishes with _so I eated them all_ and sticks out her bottom lip. She knows exactly she’s done something she wasn’t supposed to, so she’s flashing him the best puppy dog look she can and I swear to God, it works on him every single time. He’s desperately trying to bite back an amused grin and give her his I-told-you-not-to face but as usual, he’s graciously failing. It’s quite amusing to see just how easy it is for our three-year-old to wrap him around her little finger.

 _Resistance is futile, honey,_ I quip as I gently pat his shoulder and turn my attention to Ava. _Is there still some room left in your tummy for daddy’s awesome pancakes?_

I tickle her belly which causes her to giggle. She squirms in Logan’s arms, and her baby giggles soon turn into heart-warming laughter that I’m never getting tired of. Logan eventually joins me in the tickle fight, tipping her over so her tiny body is fully wrapped around his chest. Little fists are pounding against his side, feet flailing in the air while our toddler’s joyful cries of defeat fill the kitchen. This is so – normal.

It took us a long time to get to where we are now. The year after Logan’s return back from the dead wasn’t easy, but we managed. We took the run around numerous times trying to find out why someone had decided to pull him out of his life the way they did. If we closed one door, we opened another. But the short story goes like this. Logan’s history and military record made him the perfect candidate for what we discovered was a now-not-so-secret-anymore covert military mission. The prime prerequisite for the task? Go deep undercover and do not have any outside attachments. We guess when Logan told his Captain that we were getting married, it set a plan in motion that had already been in the making. They needed to extract him from his life – and from me – if they didn’t want to jeopardize their mission. The bombing had just been a lucky coincidence.

We’ll probably never know all the ins and outs, but we’ve accepted that. We’re both happy with where we are in our lives, and we're not going to let anything or anyone jeopardize that. We took back our lives, and we will make damn sure that it’s gonna stay that way.

If someone had told me ten years ago, that I’d be married to Logan Echolls with a kid one day, I’d have called them a crackpot. But here I am now, an honest woman with the proverbial 1.9 kids - if you count Pony - a family car and a house with a white, picket fence. My name is Veronica, and this is my happy ending. 


End file.
